


But not today

by bluebells



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Altar Sex, Blame the Doomcio Server, Consentacles, M/M, Negotiations, Old Gods and Tributes, Oral Sex, Rimming, Teratophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-09
Updated: 2018-05-09
Packaged: 2019-05-04 09:17:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14589834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluebells/pseuds/bluebells
Summary: “There’s a company sailing for us,” Lúcio says, voice steady as a hand closes around his waist, drawing him to the water’s edge. He rises from his knees and crosses the distance without struggle, looking down into Akande’s fascinated gaze. “Their name is Vishkar. Ships pale as bone, tall as the eldest trees.”Lúcio needs a favour from an old god and, yes, volunteers as tribute.





	But not today

**Author's Note:**

> Alternatively titled, "Take me to church." Huge thanks to [Larien](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparrowswing) for the fresh pair of eyes and making me look good.

The tribute is not afraid.

Nor is he as young as Akande feared: the man lifts his head under that grey shroud and smiles at Akande like he's reuniting with an old friend, not prostrate before an ancient, terrible force of the deep that could decide the fate of his people. But there is a weariness in his gaze that belies the youth of his body.

Those large, dark eyes are shrewd, unafraid and, most importantly, clear of influence.

Akande has no use for involuntary sacrifices. Wilful exchange is the key to the power gained from tributes. After thousands of years, the humans at last understand.

From the low altar of crushed coral on the rocky outcrop on the sea, the man inclines his head in a shallow bow.

“Lúcio, my lord,” he introduces himself.

Akande smiles to himself because this one is young enough to still brandish his confidence like a second skin of armour, and think it will protect him. His shoulders look heavy with the weight of something on his mind when they push back, raising his chin, but that smile for Akande is a challenge and an invitation, without a shadow of bleakness or despair.

It is so rare. Akande is reaching for him before he can stop himself, water trailing to his waist. He brings the sea with him, but the man does not flinch at the wet touch on his cheek, the thumb that brushes the corner of his mouth, down the short crop of a beard on his chin.

Akande didn’t ask his name, but he is glad to have it.

“Where did they find you?” He delights when he pushes that shroud back to pool at Lúcio’s bare shoulders. Lúcio does not shrink or move to stop him, holding his gaze. Akande tilts his face up, and Lúcio’s lips part as Akande thumbs the thin indent of a scar that cuts from his lower lip through his short beard.

Lúcio bears no collar or brands. Streaks and smears of paler skin reveal the scars of a life lived close to the ground, scraping knees, bracing his arms in defense, and baring his hands to work. Reaching down, Akande finds palms rough and calloused, skin hardened over the back of Lúcio’s knuckles from breaking and healing, over and over again. Strong muscle cords from those deceptively small hands; he is dwarfed in Akande’s shadow, but not slight.

Interesting.

Lúcio is wearing that same smile when Akande looks back to his face, careful.

“No one found me. I volunteered myself,” Lúcio says.

Is it ignorance or determination that makes him so bold?

When the earth shuddered and bodies started falling into the sea, Akande knew it would only be a matter of time before he heard the call. It feels like mere days have passed since the people last sought his help, but it could have well been centuries.

“Some people said you wouldn’t come. You haven’t answered a summons in a long, long time.” Lúcio searches his face, the disarming curve of that attractive mouth softening to a thoughtful frown. It’s endearing that he thinks a god might divulge its will to a tribute.

But Akande helps when it suits him. And he only answers to those who belong to the Cove.

Akande was not surprised when blood spiked the salt of the sea around his tributary crest, and he heard the song he taught them centuries ago. He rests two fingers at Lúcio’s heart.  

“You are their champion.”

He doesn’t mean it as a question, but Lúcio shrugs and shakes his head. The grey robes are so long they swallow the length of his arms, pooling generously around his waist as he kneels on the bed of broken coral and igneous rock. The tide is rising. The hem of those robes is already dark with water that has lapped higher around the altar in the few minutes since Akande’s arrival.

Lúcio speaks as Akande reaches forward to part his robes, admiring the strong torso and muscled thighs revealed to him, a small cloth of modesty over his groin, black lines of power trailing his ribs and arm. Or were those marks for protection? Akande glances back to Lúcio’s face. Is he a warrior, after all?

“There’s a company sailing for us,” Lúcio says, voice steady as a hand closes around his waist, drawing him to the water’s edge. He rises from his knees and crosses the distance without struggle, looking down into Akande’s fascinated gaze. “Their name is Vishkar. Ships pale as bone, tall as the eldest trees.”

Akande hums, tracing the black lines on Lúcio’s skin and smiling to himself at the thrill of energy that feeds back to his touch, resisting. The technique and knowledge imbued in those tattoos are old. Simple, but powerful. He won’t be able to steal this one so easily.

“Someone watches over you, Lúcio.” Akande sinks back in the water to fully appreciate the sight in front of him. The power tightly coiled into this small man before him is deceiving. Lúcio’s chest trembles on a deep breath. His beautiful brown skin gleams wet where Akande’s hands roam over the prominent jut of his collarbone, down the toned muscles of his chest and abdomen, through the line of hair from his navel that disappears beneath the cloth over his groin.

His large, dark eyes remain stubbornly on Akande’s face as the god dips a thumb to the hollow of his hip, teasing light circles in the muscled indent. Lúcio’s chest hitches on a gasp, lips parting.

Akande wants to suck those lips into his mouth and breathe the sea back into him.

His expression might betray some of his hunger, because Lúcio’s hands close tight on his, stilling their exploration. He is strong. “They mean to take the Cove and pretend we were never here.”

Akande stills, finally tearing his eyes from Lúcio’s mouth to meet his eyes. The heat of mortality rolling off Lúcio’s body is enthralling. “What do you know of how the world works, Lúcio? What do you know of us?”

Lúcio frowns, grip faltering in his confusion. Akande can see him searching for the right words; Lúcio knows he can't afford to offend the one powerful enough to intervene. Akande doesn’t know this man, but he does know the people he came from.

“I’ve watched this world turn through empires and calamity. Your people are not the first to sink their hearts into this Cove. But as time passed, yours were the first to think they didn’t need me. They toiled under this belief. They've become proud… and strong. They have weathered the consequences of that choice. Until you.”

“They don’t know I’m here,” Lúcio admits.

The water roars around them, the crash of a tall wave almost cresting the altar. Lúcio startles at the rush of foam to his waist, and Akande surges forward. He moves faster than Lúcio can respond, hands catching the tribute beneath his thighs and pushing them apart, insinuating himself between them. Smaller hands fly to his shoulders for balance, digging in.

“Whoa—“

Lúcio looks up at him, eyes wide. He gasps in shocked pants of air as Akande lifts him close, trapping the smaller man between his torso and that rough, misshapen altar. Akande never tires of the awe of mortals. He inwardly smiles at the startled flinch when Lúcio feels the first of Akande’s lower limbs curl around his calf beneath the water.

“The world decided they didn’t need us anymore," the god says. “Perhaps they are correct.”

He snakes a second of his lower limbs up Lúcio’s other thigh to free his hands, and Lúcio goes taut with tension. Akande’s tentacles are thick and powerful, capable of propelling him against the ocean’s fiercest currents at terrible speed. It’s easy work, tucking Lúcio high against his chest with those lower limbs, legs parted wide and cradled in his hold.

Lúcio stares down at the dark water where their bodies meet and his swirling robes obscure the rest of Akande’s form from view. Mortality is so bright, so warm, and Akande nestles him close against his cool, slippery form built to survive dark reefs and the crushing depths of ocean trenches.

Akande’s large hands stroke the sides of his face, drawing his gaze back.

“I am not a god of convenience, Lúcio.” Akande’s voice is low in its warning, and Lúcio shivers. Surprisingly, some of the tension melts from the thighs in his hold. Lúcio wilts, almost folding against him.

“I know,” he says, quietly. “I know what you are.”

Akande doubts the full truth of that. Some people call him the Cove’s protector. The surviving few with the eldest memory remember him correctly as one willing to make and take sacrifices for his own ends.

Somewhere along the way, he developed a pattern and they called it a mission. A purpose.

“The old god of the Cove protects those who protect the land,” Akande has heard them say.

Mortal memory is so selective.

“You know what we trade?”

Lúcio’s hands settle cautious and warm on his chest. “For them, anyth—“

Akande squeezes the thighs in his hold, and Lúcio’s hips jerk with a stifled whimper. Akande’s eyes narrow at the unexpected reaction, feeling the tense lines of Lúcio melting like snow against him. “What do we trade?”

He does not bargain on vagaries.

“Life,” Lúcio stammers, breaths quickening at the third tentacle that curls possessively around his waist, encircling up his torso. Its thick, slick tip nudges up beneath his chin, forcing his eyes back to Akande’s.

Lúcio’s gaze has grown hooded. His warmth curls hottest at the apex of thighs where his cock gives an interested twitch against Akande’s stomach, nestled between their bodies.

Maybe this won’t be so difficult, after all.

“How much life would you have me take?” Akande asks. He makes an effort to soften his voice, kneading the thighs in his grasp. The slick skin of his tentacle brushes between them, tickling the crease of Lúcio’s ass.

The effect is immediate. Lúcio’s chest puffs, neck arching. His gaze softens with a panting sigh. He almost sounds grateful.

Hunger thrills hot through Akande, and he imagines all the other involuntary sounds he can coax from that body. Lúcio is beautiful, spirited and determined. Beneath the water, Akande's remaining limbs coil tighter to the foundations of the rocky outcrop as much for strength of will as balance.

“Lúcio.”

In the answering silence, Akande thinks he has to repeat himself. He watches Lúcio’s chest rise and fall. A shuddering exhale, and at last, Lúcio’s eyes slit open, sharp and intent. Lúcio studies him, and Akande has to resist the urge to create distance at the way Lúcio searches his face, unafraid to know him.

Lúcio’s words are ground through a warming desire, and the brittle anger shielding the exhaustion Akande noticed when Lúcio first met his eye.

“They won’t spare any of us.”

Akande nods. “So?”

Lúcio trembles and strokes firmly along the tentacle wound over his torso, one hand near his throat, the other low on his waist. “Take their ships. Their fleet is rumoured at ten thousand souls. Don’t let them make berth.”

Brutal.

Akande is quietly pleased, tentacles curling tighter around his tribute. Lucio’s muscles keep twitching in his hold. “A significant loss of life.”

“You can have mine.”

Akande feels the smirk curve his mouth, and leans in. Lúcio’s exhale washes warm against his lips. Oh, how he wants to accept. “More than your life can repay.”

Fingers dig into the tentacle around Lúcio’s torso, barely registering. He relishes Lúcio’s searching look of frustration. “Then what can you do?”

He can’t be affronted at the challenge of his power. He’s enjoying this too much. Akande chuckles under his breath, slowly shaking his head. He drags fingers down the black lines on Lúcio’s arm. His belly warms, drinking in the notes of power almost as old as himself.

“With the promise of your life? To stop an armada? Plenty.”

Akande hasn’t lived this long without learning to be creative, after all.

Lucio’s beat of hesitation is insulting. At Akande’s narrowed glare, Lucio nods, shaky at first, then firmer, certain. “Okay. Okay. So, you’ll help us?”

“I’ll help you.”

Lúcio swallows thickly, a flicker of nervousness in his expression. “And how—how long do I have to live? Will you—today? I’m ready, if that’s….”

He’s shaking, despite his brave proclamations, and Akande wants to crush him down to the salt altar and unmake him for it. Something about Lúcio is so delicious: his loyalty, his sacrificial spirit, the way his eyes smouldered when he told Akande to condemn ten thousand to the depths.

Akande can’t waste this life. His decision is made in the span of Lúcio’s hiccupping breath.

“You’ll live to see your wish, Lúcio. I intend for you to live a very long time.”

Akande’s fingers wrap in the loose dreadlocks of Lúcio’s hair, and Lúcio bleats a surprised whimper into the lush press of their mouths together. The tug on Lúcio’s scalp eases his lips to part, and Akande surges in. Lúcio’s entire body shivers with his moan as Akande licks into him, tasting and exploring the nervous flutter of Lúcio's tongue. Akande strokes it, sucks it into his mouth, thrilling at Lúcio's tight noise high in his throat. He squirms when Akande licks the sensitive ridges of his palette with a tongue longer and thicker than a human's would be.

_This is mine._

Lúcio is breathing hard, eyes shut, when Akande finally pulls back far enough to murmur against his lips. “I’ll still have your life. Do you understand?”

Lúcio leans into him, expression blissed and pained. His mouth tips up and Akande allows the kiss, allows some of his hunger to bleed through in the force of it. Lúcio moans, arms wrapping tightly around Akande’s neck and shoulders, trying to rock his hips against the old God's chest. Between them, Lúcio’s cock is hardening. Akande unwinds the tentacle around his torso to slip low, coil tight around it with the thinnest end of the tip. Lúcio bucks into the slippery vice with a sharp cry. Akande coils down to the base, squeezes on the upstroke, and Lúcio folds against him, blunt nails digging into the bulging muscles of Akande’s arms as his body lurches, fucking himself into that slick grip.

It’s easy to get lost, to fall into a selfish rhythm punctuated by Lúcio’s breathy whimpers, and forget they’re making a contract. Lúcio’s noises are already climbing when Akande forces them apart, withdrawing all his tentacles. Lúcio shrieks as he drops to the altar, shoulders deep in the rising surf. He glares up at Akande in betrayal, shivering with the abrupt cold.

“Do you understand?” Akande rumbles, low and intent.

Lúcio clutches the drenched robes around his body, shoulders hunched. “You’re an asshole.”

“And you’ll belong to me.” Akande towers over him, a tentacle rising from the water, stroking slick across his cheek. To his credit, Lúcio does not rear away. “Only me. For the rest of your life. Do you understand?”

Some of the irritation clears from Lúcio’s expression and he looks over Akande’s shoulder to the approaching storm that cracks with a boom of thunder. The air is turning sharp and cold, the wind whistling its warning across the waves.

Lúcio glances to the cliffs and refuge of land behind him. “Will… will I have to live underwater?”

Akande squints at him. What ill-conceived stories gave Lúcio that idea?

“No. You are built for land, Lúcio.”

A little more of the tension eases from his hunched shoulders. “Can I stay with my people?”

“Of course. You can go wherever you wish, unless I have need of you.”

Lúcio stares at him. A slow blush darkens his handsome features. “’Need’.”

Akande tilts his head, tentacle flicking some of the dreadlocks away from Lúcio’s face. “I’ll need you for more than this.”

He’s delighted that Lúcio leans into the wet limb curling against his cheek.

“Really? How? I’m just—“

Akande won’t spoil a surprise. He deflects.

“Your people will need you. I’m an old god. I will stop your armada from making berth. The rest is up to you.”

Not because he lacks the power, but he refuses to deprive his people of the opportunity to grow. The Cove has not seen a conflict like the one coming in a long time. And Lúcio will be so beautiful at their lead, burning fierce and bright, bearing the mark of the old gods.

Marks Akande is fully intent on adding to before the day is through.

Finally, Lúcio is nodding. “Okay. Yes. Didn’t think I’d get a deal that would let me walk away alive. This is honestly better than anything I could—“

Akande tackles him down to the coral altar, taking his mouth in a consuming kiss. It’s enough. Lúcio has said ‘yes’ and it’s the first time in centuries Akande has had something – someone like Lúcio to look forward to. And Lúcio is so—

Akande groans into his mouth, teeth dragging Lúcio's lower lip when he draws back. Braced on elbows, water lapping above his nipples, Lúcio stares up at him, looking both startled and aroused, his mouth blushing red. His grey robes swirl wide around him like an inky halo in the surf. Akande’s mouth waters, eyes raking down the body of his offering.

“Been a while?” Lúcio guesses correctly, smiling.

He laughs when Akande’s tentacles grip his knees and force them apart, sinking down between them. Lúcio’s laugh dissolves into a thready breath at the weight that settles against him and his half-hard erection. Akande devours the sight of Lúcio spreading his legs further, bracing his weight on his elbows to thrust up against the slick mass of Akande's lower half. A tentacle curls around each of Lúcio’s thighs to keep them splayed. Lúcio shudders, looking down at himself held open and bare, cock leaking as it bobs against his stomach.

“Fuck, that’s hot.” He basks in Akande’s greedy gaze, mewling as another tentacle coils tight from his balls to the tip of his cock. The tentacle’s rhythm is slow but firm as it strokes him. Akande pushes another insistently against Lúcio's hole, curling in a slick tease to knead the rim of him open. Lúcio trembles, gaze molten as it leaps back to Akande's face. “You’re so f—ngh—ha….“

Talkative. Akande’s new mate is very talkative.

“Are you all right?” he checks, even though he knows it’s not pain making Lúcio wince, head falling back, eyes shut. He's sweating, the muscles of his stomach contracting in a shiver of lust.

“Warmer than I thought you’d be,” Lúcio exhales in a breathless rush.

Akande blinks his first and second pair of eyelids. Okay. “Is that good?”

Akande tightens the grip on his cock, holds it, letting Lúcio hang suspended in the pause with the throb of his own pulse.

Lúcio mews a helpless wanton noise high in his throat, back arching and probably scraping a reef’s worth of coral beneath his shoulders. The sensations catch up to him when Akande’s tentacle resumes stroking, pace fast, and he cries out, stomach tightening. If his hips weren’t being held, Akande knows they would be jerking fast to chase his impending orgasm.

“A-aah,” he cries, opening heavy eyes. Leaning his weight on one elbow, he weakly reaches for Akande. “’M close.”

A different warmth curls through the fever of lust, something heavier, charmed that Lúcio yearns for a connection when he’s on the brink. Akande is happy to provide, leaning down to crush their bodies together, stroking his hands up Lúcio’s arms, appreciating the lithe muscles before he entangles their fingers and pins Lúcio’s hands above his head. Akande is so much larger that he reaches with ease, hunching to mouth and suck at the defined muscles of Lúcio’s chest, lapping salt water over his nipples as he pants and then whines at the tug of teeth before Akande’s mouth closes in a harsh, sucking kiss to bruise.

Akande feels Lúcio's thighs shake, but he has nowhere to go.

"Ah! A-aaahn… _fuck_ ….” Lúcio cries out, head shooting up as his body tightens, shudders and rolls through his release. Akande watches him, watches ecstasy pinch his gorgeous features, mouth hanging open as his cock spurts white across his stomach, up his chest, streaking between his pectoral muscles. Akande's tentacle milks him through it, clenching tight and holding as Lúcio rocks against him, until he falls lax. His deep pant catches on a whimper of oversensitivity.

"Beautiful," Akande breathes, and bends down. He flattens his tongue and licks broadly across the head of Lúcio's cock, gathering up the last of his spend as it dribbles out. Lúcio jerks with a small noise in his chest, stomach bowing away, but the tentacles around his thighs have not relinquished their hold.

"Ow," Lúcio whimpers softly. His eyes are still shut when Akande looks up into his face.

Lúcio is pliant and easy to maneuver when Akande slides two more tentacles up his back, and lifts. Lúcio weighs almost nothing in Akande's measure, flops against his chest, cum smearing between them. Lúcio buries his face in Akande's chest with a low hum in his throat.

Lightning flashes in Akande's periphery, thunder cracking moments later. He holds Lúcio through his flinch. His tribute, his new mate has nothing to fear from the elemental forces. He is Akande's to protect now.

“I'm not done with you yet,” and Akande smiles at the arms that tense around his waist.

Long minutes later, as negotiations go, Akande deems he has the upper hand. Even if the old God _is_ the one submitting himself to worship another.

"Oh, _please_...."

And it's worth it.

Lúcio shudders against his mouth, thighs trembling as Akande keeps them spread above him, his long, thick tongue dragging over and against Lúcio's hole.

Held aloft only by the power of Akande's tentacles, Lúcio watches him with a slow, warm smile. His head hangs to his chest, lips parted in breathy exhales. He is beautiful in his pleasure, swaying as he pushes back his shoulders, lithe muscles rippling in a sinuous display of confidence. His body tenses in a full length shiver as the limbs coiled around his legs lift him higher, letting gravity bare him to the hungry press of Akande's seeking mouth, slick tongue splitting him open to delve and lap deep inside.

Lúcio lurches with a high cry as Akande holds him there, growling against his skin, drooling at the musk of sweat, and the breathless, shivery noises he's earning without blood or coercion.

There is nothing sexier than a tribute who will hold themselves open for him.  Not that Lúcio needs to anymore. Akande relieved his hands long, panting minutes ago.

"Oh, fuck. Ohhhhhh, fuck," Lúcio groans weakly, tapering into a whimper when the tip from one of Akande's limbs screws into that reddened hole. He grasps at Akande's bare scalp, blunt nails scraping bloodless lines beneath the skin. "Shit." His hips jerk and grind down as Akande's jaw works, wet and slippery. "OH, that's... a-ah, my God!"

Akande sucks hard and long at the pinched rim of him, dragging that skin into his mouth in a wet, noisy kiss before he draws off, lashing his tongue up Lúcio's sack on his ascent.

He loves how human Lúcio is. How, despite all his strength, agility and accomplishments, Lúcio allows himself to be bared and vulnerable, trembling and so warm in the moment he's held against an old God.

Lúcio paws at the thick muscle of Akande's chest as Akande rises, pressing flush against him. "Please... please don't stop."

Akande smirks and pushes his hands down Lúcio's back, palming the smooth cheeks of his ass. His fingers curl in below the curve of that flesh to the skin of his inner thighs. Lúcio groans, eyes half-lidded as a second of Akande's tentacles slithers into him, soft and pliable, pulling his cheeks apart.

"I told you what I want," Akande says, holding Lúcio's splayed thighs against him, feeling Lúcio pulse and spasm hot from within. “Tell me.”

“Yes,” Lúcio affirms, he still wants this, too, however Akande will have him.

Akande gently lowers the human’s shoulders until Lúcio dangles upside down from the old God's waist.

Lúcio stiffens, grasping for Akande's forearms. As though there was any prospect of Akande letting him fall. The human shudders, clenching briefly when one of Akande's unoccupied tentacles takes his wrists and holds them down and away.

Akande delights in his obedience and the eager clutch of his body gently milking him. He bends to kiss the soft skin of Lúcio's inner thigh. “Sing for me.”

And Lúcio does, crying out like he's wounded when Akande flexes and thrusts those tentacles in his ass, the red rim of him pulled so wide around the girth of those limbs. Lúcio is lucky for the approaching storm. Any human wandering the coastline would otherwise hear the pitch of desperation in his cries, or see how shamelessly he has spread himself on the altar for this monstrous creature as he hangs helpless, open and restrained; a plaything for its pleasure.

But Akande understands the true gift of what he's been given. He knows he might not enjoy such an offering again so soon.

He growls, tongue swollen with lust, and pushes a third tentacle against the limbs already straining Lúcio so wide. This one is thinner and longer than the others, but Lúcio still whines in his chest, eyes rolling back when Akande works it in with slick nudges amplified by every tremble and jerk of the human’s body.

Lúcio groans, delirious and weak. The sight of him like this stokes a hunger Akande had almost forgotten.

Akande crouches lower above him in the swell of the tide. He grounds himself for purchase and his huge form dwarfs his tribute in the shadow of the storm. Lúcio wails as Akande drives into him with renewed purpose, a long and sobbing cry for mercy as he's assaulted from within and bullied with his own pleasure. He rocks in the surf against Akande's body, head hanging with his dreadlocks submerged by sea. If he's lucky, the tide will rise above his ears and soon he won't hear how loudly this old god is wrecking him.

Akande thrusts too fast for him to catch his breath, and too hard for him to bow away.

Watching Lúcio writhe and all but scream, Akande can admit to himself he does want to see if Lúcio will beg for a reprieve. And it would end their contract; what Lúcio asks is not lightly given. In Akande's mind, this is a small payment in kind.

He groans low in his chest, watching Lúcio arch, his legs held in the air, eyes shut, mouth gasping wide, every muscle in his body pulled taught. The moment he comes, spasming around those tentacles, Akande presses hard and holds against his prostate, spreads him from the inside the little more Lúcio will stretch without breaking.

Lúcio screams, pleading and sobbing as the violence of his release wracks through him. Akande smirks, hearing it ricochet through the jagged cliffs of the shore.

Quite the song after all.

It lasts for long, shivering minutes, holding Lúcio up from the inside as he twitches, his cries dying to whimpers, then a thin whine when finally Akande spills inside from that thinner limb.

Akande lets his eyes fall shut and sways with it, grunting low in his chest as Lúcio milks him. It's been too long.

Lúcio's eyes are heavy when Akande next looks at him, his tribute’s overwhelmed tears mixed with the falling rain. Pride springs in his chest and he is glad when Lúcio weakly returns his slow smile.

Akande has chosen well.

“So,” Akande palms the sharp lines of Lúcio's pelvis, does not yet withdraw. Lúcio will need to grow accustomed to the feeling. “Tall ships. Pale as bone.”

“Yeah,” Lúcio breathes, voice cracking from abuse, and Akande chuckles, his chest swelling with smugness.

Vishkar are as good as dead.

Akande gently pulls Lúcio upright and warms him against the rain now falling like cold knives, wrapping him close in his arms. Lúcio groans into their kiss, soft and wet, his body like putty. Akande’s smirk tugs wider, palming the bruises already forming around Lúcio's thighs and wrists.

“As you wish,” Akande swears.

///

He does not have long to wait. Word arrives on the current of the famous fleet, days before any human eye on the Cove sights them.

Vishkar sail to burn and rebuild a better world - their better world, for the betterment of all.

Akande would know.

“Plan to tell him you're the one who invited them?”

At his back, Death ripples into form from the shadows of Los Muertos’s shipwreck. Through the ages, with all the civilizations they have watched pass together, Akande and Death became well acquainted. Seeing that grisly mask of bone form under the dapple of underwater light, Akande fondly remembers the empires he tore down himself.

That Death appears now is a welcome augur for Akande's plans.

It was time for the people of the Cove to rise again. And they will. But not today.

Akande made a promise.

“One day, old friend. Today, we feast.”

  



End file.
